


Porosity

by lezlemon



Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: Awkward Romance, Bechdel Test Pass, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Healing, Late Night Conversations, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24696901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lezlemon/pseuds/lezlemon
Summary: Just one imagined night in Gill's healing process after the events of the S3 finale. In which Gill is brave and Julie is beautiful and solid and kind. It's a bit heavy, not really a Gill-Julie banter fic, more of a hurt and comfort kind of deal.Somewhat compliant with S4, but the timing could be off, so don't think about it too hard. ;)
Relationships: Julie Dodson/Gill Murray
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	1. Might need a lift

Porosity:

1\. The quality or state of being porous 

2\. The ratio of the volume of interstices of a material to the volume of its mass; a measure of the void (i.e. "empty") spaces in a material 

\-------------------------

It has been a long day at the end of a long week, and Julie Dodson is relieved to be heading home. A weary glance at her wrist reveals that it is after 11 PM. ‘I’ve really got to get out of here earlier,’ she thinks to herself, pushing through the double doors. She’s nearly to her car when she feels her phone buzz against her leg. With a groan and an eye roll, she pulls the phone out of her pocket and squints at the offender. Her face softens, and she brings the phone to her ear with a customary, “Hiya, slap!” as she slips into her car.

There’s no response, but Julie’s pretty sure the line isn’t dead because she can hear something coming through. Probably a pocket dial; her dear friend is brilliant at running a syndicate but positively hopeless when it comes to elementary technology.

“Hello? Gill?” Julie puts a little sing-song into it this time, teasing. Still muffled silence.

She is about to give up when she hears a loud sniff.

“Gill? Are you alright?” Julie has dropped the playful lilt, a note of concern in her voice now.

“No,” comes the whispered reply.

“Where are you, love?” Julie turns the key in the ignition and puts the car into reverse.

“Syndicate.”

“Okay. Sit tight, I’m coming.” Julie pauses, trying to decide if she should put the phone on speakerphone, keep her friend on the line, but before she makes up her mind, there is a beep and the call ends. She tosses the phone onto the passenger’s seat and quickly pulls out of the parking lot. If she really thinks about it, she's surprised she hasn't had a call like this from Gill sooner. After her abduction some ten months ago, Gill had gotten back on her feet so quickly. Something didn't seem right about that, but she didn't want to interfere; after all, what could Julie know about a trauma like that? The scariest thing that has happened to her in recent years is Karen Zalinski. That, and, well, Gill's abduction.

When Julie walks into the syndicate, not a single light is on, and she momentarily wonders if she’s somehow gotten her wires crossed. Gill was so quiet on the phone. Perhaps she misheard her.

Or maybe she’s imagining things. Ever since Gill’s abduction, Julie has found herself haunted by dreams in which she can hear her friend’s voice crying out for help. Inevitably, Julie finds herself rushing through endless darkness in these dreams, searching, trying to follow the sound of Gill's cries, until her voice trails to nothing and Julie wakes up, eyes wide and breath hitched. Maybe these dreams are somehow infiltrating her wakeful mind, causing her to hear a cry for help that is not really there.

Julie’s not sure, but she’s going to trust that what she heard was real until she finds unequivocal proof that she’s taken leave of her senses; they’ve gotten her this far in life, after all. As she enters the main floor of the syndicate, she considers turning a light on, but she opts to clear her throat loudly instead, thinking that might be a gentler way of announcing her presence. She’s not sure she wants to do whatever this is in harsh white fluorescence, in any case. She crosses the room, carefully avoiding knocking papers off the desks that seem to loom closer as she passes them.

“Gill?” She calls out softly as she approaches her office. There’s no one at the desk, and she’s really starting to wonder if she’s losing it, when she hears a soft whimper.

“Julie?” The voice, strangled and cracking, comes from somewhere behind the desk. Julie steps further into the room and there she is, Gill, squatting in the shadows behind the desk, sobbing. Julie realizes with an uncomfortable lurch of something that her skirt has ridden up in her anguish, and with her knees splayed, her knickers loom white out of the darkness. She blinks, and then their eyes lock, Gill’s shining and pleading.

“Oh, Gill,” Julie breathes low as she swoops across the room. She lowers herself onto the carpet beside her friend, criss-crossing her long legs beneath her, ungainly. Once settled, she reaches her arms out and wraps them around Gill, pulling her closer. They sit like this for a while, Gill’s breath coming in hitches and sobs while Julie gently caresses her back, then her arms, then her hair, which is damp with sweat and tears and possibly alcohol; there’s a heady smell of booze in the air and a glass bottle of something lying forgotten on the floor.

Eventually Gill’s legs must grow tired of squatting at this awkward angle, and she allows herself to fall fully into Julie’s lap, tucking her knees in and burying her face in Julie’s neck. Julie feels a drop of moisture fall on bare skin where her dress shirt has come unbuttoned, and then another, and then something stranger: Gill’s lips pressed softly against her sternum, insistent but gentle as she makes her way down between Julie’s breasts.

“Hey, hey.” Julie jiggles her leg, guide’s Gill’s face up and away from danger so that her chin is resting on Julie’s shoulder, her face to the wall behind them. Gill’s arms loosen a little around Julie’s middle, and Julie rests a hand tenderly on the back of her head, becomes aware that Gill is trembling in her arms.

“Do you want to tell me about it, darling?” Julie tries to keep the lump in her throat out of her voice when she speaks. She mostly succeeds.

Gill draws a great, shuddering breath, and Julie’s arms rise and fall with her.

Then, “I’m sorry for the kissing.” Gill’s voice is so soft Julie almost misses it. She’s not sure what to say to that, so she just pulls Gill in a little closer, turns her neck awkwardly to press a kiss onto the side of Gill’s head.

“No harm done, love,” Julie whispers, finally finding words. Gill sighs, her breathing slowing; her sobs are further apart now.

“It’s just,” Gill pauses, takes another steadying breath. “Why am I not over this?”

Julie tsks lightly, runs her hands bracingly along Gill’s arms, pulls her back so that she can look into her eyes.

“Because it’s not something you can just get over, is it, love?” Julie runs her hand across Gill’s brow, tucks her hair behind her ear, then softly takes her cheek in her hand. Julie’s brow furrows, and Gill can’t handle the closeness; her face screws up again, tears slipping from her eyes and cascading down onto Julie’s hand. But she doesn’t pull away; she lets Julie stroke her face and watch her cry.

“Oh, love.” Julie leans forward after a spell and presses a kiss against Gill’s forehead. She thinks to pull back, but before she can, Gill’s hand is against the back of her neck, holding her there, her thumb playing softly in the hairs at the nape of Julie’s neck. Julie submits, and presses her lips against Gill’s brow once more, whispering, “You know, I’m proud of you.”

Gill twitches, makes a strange sound that after a moment Julie realizes is a constricted laugh. Gill relinquishes her hold on Julie’s neck, and they pull apart enough to make eye contact again.

Gill hiccups. Her eyes look a bit dazed, but there’s a spark of something in them as she tilts her head at Julie. “Proud? I'm drunk and handsy and I smell like piss.”

“Well, yeah,” Julie starts, then pauses, unsure of how to frame this. She senses she may be veering into dangerous territory. “Well yeah, but, you’re letting yourself feel this.” Julie winces as she says it; she knows Gill will see right through this. It sounds a little too much like she's quoting the department psychologist because, well, she is.

Gill stares at her. Julie shifts uncomfortably, as much as she can while pinned under Gill. She’s suddenly aware of the weight of Gill’s bones pressing into her lap, Gill’s nose within inches of her own, the puff of her gin-tinged breath ghosting in the space between them.

"Are you-- Did you go to the psychologist for me?" Gill's got an eyebrow raised and her back is suddenly tense. Julie fidgets with her sleeve nervously.

"Well, no, not for you, as such."

"Not as such? And what d'you mean by that exactly?"

"Well, I did go after your, er, incident. But it wasn't for you." Julie clears her throat uncomfortably. "It was, well, it was for me."

"For you?" Gill's expression has softened somewhat, although she still looks confused.

"Yeah. It was-- well, this is going to sound silly to you, probably, God knows I didn't go through what you went through, but I couldn't sleep. And so I made an appointment."

"That doesn't sound silly to me." Gill is looking at her strangely. "Do you-- Can you sleep now?"

Julie makes a face somewhere between a smile and a grimace. "I still have trouble now and again, but yeah, it helped.” She pauses, glancing down at Gill. “I guess I thought that what he said might help you, too."

“Mm,” Gill grunts noncommittally.

“Have you been recently, Gill? To the department guy?”

Gill shifts in Julie’s lap, turning her gaze away from Julie’s. “He’s a wanker.”

“Okay,” Julie says. “Maybe we can find you a not wanker to talk to?”

“I hate psychologists, Julie.”

“I know,” Julie says, chuckling softly. “But you deserve to feel better, Gill.” She tucks a lock of stray hair behind Gill’s ear. “And I know you’re inclined to soldier through this on your own because you’re a stubborn cow—”

Gill’s head whips back to lock eyes with Julie.

Julie raises her eyebrows. “—and I love you for it, Gill, I really do, you know I do,” Julie continues, her voice breaking. “But I think you know you could use a little help with this one.”

Gill stares at her long enough that Julie starts to feel uncomfortable, but she holds Gill’s gaze until Gill drops her eyes to her lap, shaking her head.

“You know, I can’t decide if I want to kiss you or smack you, Julie Dodson,” Gill says, her voice wavering. Her hand is smoothing Julie's sleeve, though, belying her threat. Julie laughs softly, crooks her jaw, considers.

“Well you’ve had a go at one tonight. Why not try the other?”

Gill laughs a laugh that turns into a wail, and she leans forward into Julie again, sobbing.

“Atta girl,” Julie murmurs into her hair, breathing in the soft fragrance of her shampoo, mingled strangely with the scent of sweat and grief. They sit like this, Julie holding Gill as she shakes in her arms, for so long that Julie loses sensation in her legs. Finally, Gill breathes herself into silence, lets herself go limp in Julie’s embrace.

“Better? Hmm?” Julie hums, rocking them both a little side to side, as much to soothe Gill as to bring some life into her stiff legs.

Gill lifts up a fist and halfheartedly hits Julie’s shoulder with it once, twice. She lifts her face away from Julie’s bosom just enough to speak.

“Just to be clear, I am not going back to that department guy. Not now, not ever.”

“Okay,” Julie says, half smiling down at the top of Gill’s head.

“But I will try another psychologist. Just if it’d make you feel better.”

Julie breathes out something between a sigh and a laugh. “It would, Gill, although that’s not entirely the point.”

“I know,” Gill whispers, dropping her head back onto Julie’s chest. A beat passes, then: “If you ever 'atta girl' me again, I will slap you, Slap.”

Julie chuckles.

"I mean it." Gill knocks her fist against her one more time for good measure. 

“I know,” Julie says, smiling. They sit there quietly, Gill breathing into Julie’s collar while Julie stares absently at the piles of paperwork on Gill’s desk, which remind her of the piles of paperwork on her own desk, awaiting her return on Monday morning.

She feels exhausted again all of a sudden. It would be so easy to rest her head on Gill’s and sink into a warm, comforting slumber, but she blinks herself awake. She doesn’t fancy being found like this by the janitor in the morning; rumors would inevitably spread like wildfire and that could be a serious problem if those rumors included words like “gin” or “slept together.” Gill has never been Julie’s subordinate anywhere except on paper, but Julie knows that sometimes what’s written on paper matters rather a lot in the police. 

And, of course, alcohol in the office is grounds for a serious disciplinary offense. That’s been niggling at Julie’s conscience; she’s probably duty bound to report this but like hell is she actually going to do that. Drunk in the office at midnight on a Friday is not quite the same as drunk at a crime scene mid-morning on a Monday. And Gill’s got good reason for acting a bit outside of herself, anyway, Julie thinks with a hot twinge of anger. Why hasn’t anyone at headquarters followed up with her? How has she been allowed to fall through the cracks like this after what she went through? A flash of guilt comes hot on the heels of the momentary anger; she, Julie, should have kept Gill from falling through the cracks, both as a friend and an outranking officer. Julie vows to herself to take better care going forward.

“Let’s get you home, love.”

Gill raises her head blearily. “Might need a lift,” she croaks.

Julie laughs gently. “I should think so.” Gill blinks at her tiredly but makes no move to get up. “You are going to have to give me my legs back first, though, love.”

“Right,” Gill mutters, slowly extracting herself from Julie’s lap. Once disentangled, she tries to stand but wobbles; Julie extends a hand up and Gill steadies herself on it. Once she’s risen properly and seems to have regained her sense of balance, she looks down at Julie expectantly. Julie is still sitting on the floor, one leg still hooked under her, the other extended. She leans forward, stretching, a pained look on her face. She doesn’t think her legs have ever been asleep for this long before.

“You coming, Slap?”

Julie groans. “I don’t think I’ll ever walk again.”

Gill extends a hand to help her up, but Julie just laughs.

“If we go with that plan, love, we’re both going to end up back on the floor, what with all you’ve had to drink and you weighing less than a feather and me weighing, well, more than a feather.”

Julie extends her other leg contemplatively, admiring the forceful feeling of pinpricks all throughout it. Something in her lower back twinges, and she suspects she will be feeling the effects of this seating arrangement for some days to come. She starts to groan again but stops abruptly when she feels a hand come to rest on her shoulder. Julie looks up, and Gill is gazing softly down at her, an inscrutable look on her face.

“Thank you, Julie.”

Julie wrenches herself up off the ground at that, and, once she’s certain her legs will hold underneath her, she folds Gill into her arms. “Of course, Slap,” she murmurs in the other woman’s ear. She feels movement, and suddenly there’s a hand curled tenderly round the back of her neck, and Gill is pulling Julie’s head down and tilting her own head back so that their noses touch and they are staring into each other’s eyes. Julie can feel her heart hammering in her chest, and she can’t quite remember how to breathe. 

"Julie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you? Properly?"

Julie's breath catches. "Okay," she whispers. Gill closes the inch between them, her lips suddenly soft against Julie's. As she returns the kiss, Julie is struck by the taste of Gill's lips: there's salt and gin there, and something a bit metallic. Gill molds herself to Julie, and the feeling of Gill's warm body against hers stirs something powerful in Julie. She resists the urge to run her hands over Gill's arse or up her sides, instead keeping them fixed chastely at Gill's hips; now is not the time, but oh, her chest could burst with longing.

Gill pulls back after a spell, smirking softly up at Julie. “You can count yourself lucky this time.”

“Why’s that?” Julie breathes.

“Well, I could have opted for smacking you, you know.”

Julie laughs, surprised. “Such a sweet-tempered thing you are,” she says sarcastically, but she’s smiling. 

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Julie bends to straighten Gill's skirt, then helps her coat over her shoulders. A whiff of Gill’s breath reminds Julie to grab the gin bottle off the floor, which she tucks into an inside pocket of her own coat. She smiles bracingly, then guides Gill slowly out of the room, one arm around Gill’s shoulder and the other hooked in Gill’s briefcase.

When they arrive at Julie’s car, Julie makes to open the door for Gill, but Gill stops her with an outstretched arm.

“Not that drunk, thank you.”

Julie smirks, pulls the half full gin bottle out of her coat and pours its contents into a nearby planter.

“Hey, I paid good money for that!”

“Oh, and what will you be telling Zalinski, then, when she hears we got stopped with an open container and a car smelling of gin?”

Gill mutters a curse under her breath as she flops into the car. Julie shakes her head, slipping off her coat and then tossing it and Gill’s briefcase into the backseat alongside her own, then makes her way round to the driver’s side.

“My place or yours?”

Gill sniffs, then half smiles at Julie through the dark car. "Yours?"

“Okay,” Julie smiles, turning the key in the ignition and putting the car in reverse.


	2. Aren't moral crises the domain of therapists and priests?

They pull out onto the street, and ride in silence through the downtown area. It’s late enough that most of the restaurants and pubs are closed, although light, laughter, and music spill out of a handful of the more dedicated nightlife establishments. Julie chances a glance over at Gill when they’re stopped at a light; she’s sitting with her head resting on the passenger window, vaguely staring out into the night, a hand absently worrying at the seatbelt where it rests on her collarbone. Julie shifts her eyes back to the street ahead as the light turns, tries to push down the ache.

“I hate feeling porous.” Gill’s voice is so quiet, so reflective, that it almost disappears into the hum of the car’s engine, the muted thrum of the tires meeting the road. As such, it takes Julie a minute to process that Gill has spoken.

“Sorry?” Julie asks.

“Feeling porous. I hate feeling porous.”

“What d’you mean?”

“You know. Like everything I see can just seep in and become part of me.” Gill is leaning back against the headrest now, her eyes closed.

“Mm,” Julie answers. “I guess I hate that feeling too.” She taps her fingers on the steering wheel a few times. “Feel that way quite a lot, actually.”

Gill opens her eyes and straightens up a bit. “Yeah. See, and that’s the difference between us. You’re soft.”

Julie’s grip stiffens on the wheel. “What?”

Gill leans back again. “Christ. Sorry, Slap. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean…” Gill trails off, gesturing vaguely.

Julie breathes out a wry laugh. “And what did you mean, exactly?”

Gill rubs her temple, her brow furrowed. “I mean, you do feel sorry for the tossers sometimes. Don’t you?”

“I suppose, yeah.”

“Right. And you think about what made them the way they are and all that.”

“Yeah. Sometimes.” Julie laughs drolly. “Often,” she corrects herself.

“Okay. Right. Well, I’m not like that, Julie.” Gill puts a hand on Julie’s arm, and Julie looks toward her, finds Gill’s eyes wide and earnest looking back into her own. “Sorry. Still not trying to insult you,” Gill says softly.

Julie smiles at her briefly before turning her attention back to the road. “I know. I think.”

Gill lets her hand fall back into her lap. “Right. Well, I used to be proud of that detachment, like it made me more professional somehow. More fair.”

“It probably does,” Julie says.

“Does it?” Gill shakes her head. “I’m not so sure. I think I just deluded myself into thinking I was impervious to all the fear and hurt, all the evil, when in actuality it’s been seeping into me since day one on the job.” Gill shakes her head. “It’s made me hard, Julie.” Gill’s face is definitely hard as she stares out the window. “And Helen Bartlett died because I couldn’t see that,” she finishes bitterly.

Oh. Julie feels her stomach drop. “Surely that’s a bit of a leap, Gill.”

Gill fixes Julie with a fierce stare. “Is it?”

Julie pulls the car over, slipping it into park, then turns to face Gill. She can hardly bear the look on Gill’s face, all anger and disgust. There’s something else there, too; Julie thinks it might be fear. 

This whole thing is harder now that Gill seems to have run out of tears. Comforting a crying friend is one thing. But this? Julie wants to bandage it, to tell Gill she’s done nothing wrong, to make it go away. But she knows that this conversation matters and that brushing it over would probably do more harm than good. 

Gill continues, “I never even tried to understand her.”

Julie feels leagues out of her depth-- aren’t moral crises the domain of therapists and priests?-- but she tries to corral her discomfort. She tentatively places a hand on Gill’s. Gill stiffens slightly, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Well, you weren’t singing her praises, that’s for sure,” Julie responds gently.

Gill lets out a hollow laugh. “No, I definitely wasn’t.”

“No,” Julie continues, running her thumb softly across the back of Gill’s hand. “But I think you did try to understand her. I mean, you came around in the end, didn’t you? In your recommendation to CPS?”

“Yes,” Gill replies stiffly. 

“Right. So maybe you didn’t ever feel warm and fuzzy about Helen. But you were a bit more forgiving in the end, weren’t you, in your way?”

“Only because you convinced me.”

Julie sighs, leans back in her seat. “Look, Gill. None of us are islands, you know. We all need a little course correction, now and again. Even you.”

“Yeah,” Gill says softly. They sit in silence again for what feels to Julie like the hundredth time that night. It starts to rain softly, and a gentle pattering sound fills the car. “I don’t much like course correction,” Gill says finally, breaking the silence.

Julie finds laughter bubbling up out of her at that, and Gill looks over at her, the picture of surprise. Julie can’t blame her; she’s quite surprised herself at how hard she’s laughing, but damn if Gill isn’t a little hilariously predictable.

“Sorry,” Julie says, wiping her eyes, once she’s gotten a grip on herself. “It’s just, I mean, ‘I don’t much like course correction’—can we talk about the understatement of the year, Slap?”   
There’s a little smile playing at the corner of Gill’s mouth. “Oh, shut up and drive me home, you slag.”

Julie punches Gill’s shoulder lightly. “Cheeky, you are. What do you think I am, your chauffeur?”

“Nah. Didn’t I just tell you?” Gill’s smirk turns into a full-on grin. “You’re my slag!”

“Oho!” Julie pulls a fake scandalized face as she puts the car back into gear and pulls out onto the road. “Didn’t know slags were expected to pull overtime driving their clients around.”

“Didn’t I put that in the job description?” Gill chirps. “Must’ve forgotten.” She looks immensely self-satisfied, and Julie feels a powerful wave of affection. 

Julie swallows that down, then parries: “More like your mother forgot. Didn’t I tell you your mum’s paying me to go out with you?”

Gill swats at Julie, cuffing her rather hard on the shoulder.

“Ouch!” Julie rubs her shoulder. “What was that for?”

Gill shakes her head in overly wrought disappointment. “You’ve really got to get some new material.”

Julie rolls her eyes. “Don’t have time, Slap.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. ‘M too busy chauffeuring you around. And whoring, apparently.” Julie grins mischievously.

Gill swats her again, a little less violently this time, and Julie snickers. It’s raining harder now, and she can hardly see the road. She flicks the wipers onto a faster setting, and squints at the bright lights of an oncoming car. Her eyesight’s really not quite what it used to be. Soon, the monotonous drone of the rubber blades against the glass pulls her into a sort of reverie. 

The exhaustion is creeping in again; the second they get home she’s going to tuck Gill into the guest room bed and then immediately collapse on her own bed. She briefly utters a silent prayer to the crime gods that the residents of Manchester don’t feel any particularly murderous inclinations for the next twelve hours at least; she’d sell her soul for a good night’s sleep.

Julie starts a bit when Gill breaks the silence.

“So, are you?” Gill asks. “I mean, are we?”

Julie shoots her an inquiring look, although she’s got a feeling she knows where this is going. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

“Are we going out?”

“Ah.” Julie’s heart rate quickens. Yes, Gill is going to go there.

“I mean, because I kissed you. And you kissed me. And it was…nice.” Gill is leaning her head against the window again, an absent sort of smile on her face.

“It was,” Julie agrees. A few moments pass in stupefied silence.

“So? Are we dating?” Gill asks again.

Julie laughs helplessly. “I don’t know. Are we?”

“I’d like to be,” Gill says simply.

“Right,” Julie answers.

“Right?” Gill asks.

Julie lets out a long breath. “Well I think we’ll want to double check this in the morning when we can remember how to spell our own names, but yeah, I’d say we might be dating.”

“Good,” Gill says. Julie glances over at Gill. She’s smiling a little and curling her legs up so her feet rest on the seat.

“What are you smirking about?” Julie asks.

“Janet and Rachel’ve got a bet riding on this,” Gill says sleepily.

“They never.” 

“Mm,” Gill confirms. “Heard ‘em talking in the loo yesterday.”

Julie shakes her head, chuckling. “And who’s going to win that bet?”

There’s no answer. Julie casts a glance over at Gill and finds her fast asleep against the passenger window, her arms wrapped around her legs and the ghost of a smile on her face. Julie reaches into the backseat to grab her coat, doing her best to keep her eyes on the road and the car going straight. Once she’s wrangled the coat from the backseat, she awkwardly tucks it around Gill with one hand, keeping the other firmly on the wheel. She gives Gill’s knee a gentle squeeze, then reaches over to turn the radio on low. There’s a cheesy Sam Smith song playing, and she rolls her eyes. Her gaze catches on the light of the car’s digital clock. It’s 2:59 AM. Julie groans.

“I’m too old for this,” she mutters, but she can’t help the smile that creeps on her face when she hears Gill start to snore.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so inspired by all the other fics on these two, and I think the way I conceive of Julie in particular has been shaped by these windows you all have offered into her mind.
> 
> Also I am sooo sorry if I am butchering British colloquialisms; just an American fan over here trying her best.


End file.
